


Forgive a fool

by GraceEliz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Background Jedi Culture, Established Relationship, F/M, Jo is a beautiful badass and Dooku loves his (not) wife a great deal, as requested, set sometime pre-prequels, soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: Coming awake is always the worst of the experience: the sharp intake of air, the lingering conviction that you are about to die, then the impact of discomforts, pains, realisations. This is what Jo realised: she was not dead; she was not falling; she was surrounded by tall grass; and that finally, and worst of all, she appeared to be utterly alone.
Relationships: Dooku/Jocasta Nu
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	Forgive a fool

**Author's Note:**

> For Discord, and all of us who looked at Badass Librarian and said "Elegant Grandad would adore her so much y'all".

Coming awake is always the worst of the experience: the sharp intake of air, the lingering conviction that you are about to die, then the impact of discomforts, pains, realisations. This is what Jo realised: she was not dead; she was not falling; she was surrounded by tall grass; and that finally, and worst of all, she appeared to be utterly alone. When in this sort of situation there was a method. First, assess your body in the Force and by your own mind. Jo had no injuries worse than the inevitable scratches and bruises where she landed, and her bruised rib appeared to have fractured on impact with the ground. Handling that was the matter of mere moments. She sat up. 

Smoke rose up, grey and black, like the plumage of a bird. Below this trail of destruction lay the wreck of the speeder, unburned, but undoubtedly ruined beyond repair. It lay some few hundred meters away. 

She should not have landed so far away. 

Fact: the ship crashed. She and Dooku should be within range of the wreck, or indeed within it. Inference: Dooku too had survived the crash, and had dragged her away. Indeed, there was a trail of swept grass, just starting to perk back up. Tall grasses rose either side of her body, except for a on her right hand side. Evidently, where Dooku had trodden it flat. A small smile rose to her eyes, lips dancing into a smile. How very sweet he is, thought Jo, and how very foolish. 

“Dooku, you idiot,” she said aloud to the empty plain, “you have completely demolished that transport.” How were they supposed to get home with no transport? Oh they would find a way, they always did. 

So, she centered herself, a consideration. Fact: there is no transport, and she is alone. Inference: Dooku has gone in search of assistance. Fact: he has left her the satchel of food, but taken his portions. His journal is still here, his sabers are not. Exactly half the credits are gone. Inferences: they may be separated for some time, and danger is uncertain, but he has faith she is well and trusts her decisions. Rising slowly to her feet, Jo smiles at the setting sun which paints the horizon vibrant yellow and orange. Perhaps, when this blows over, they will finally get their sunset together. They truly make the perfect team. Dooku’s tracks indicate he has headed away from the setting sun, East, or the equivalent thereof; a quick dip into the Force encourages her to follow after, but without urgency, free from concern. 

It is a pleasant evening to walk. The trail of crushed grass soon coverages with an earth track, lined by berry-bushes and the twisted trees indicative of trail markers. Whoever the native people of this region are, they live in true harmony with the Living Force. Birds sing above her, providing welcome distraction from the persistent pain of her slowly seizing muscles. Fact: she appears to have landed on her back. Inference, tomorrow will be very slow and stiff, and her reflexes will be slowed. Before too long – before the discomfort passes beyond the pale – she reaches the edge of village. 

Apparently, they are not so welcoming as they would have wished: threat is heavy in the Force. Fact, she cannot see anyone guarding the village; she infers that the local people must be accomplished warriors. Perhaps, then, that is how her Dooku infiltrated the settlement. 

“I say, my wife may be in considerable pain,” comes his strident voice. Jo smiles into the darkness. Or, she supposes, he could simply ‘pull rank’ and pretend that they’re married. Admit they’re married, perhaps; but Jedi marriage isn’t legal on most planets. How ridiculous a man she loves, that he always plays pretend they’re married, when they in fact are, but not in any manner recognised by the customs of the places they wind up undercover. Shaking her head, Jo steps further into the light. 

“It is not all so bad as that, my love,” she calls out in Basic. Oftentimes, discretion is the better part of valour. Jocasta Nu is no coward, nor has she ever been; she is a Jedi Master, and shall hide in plain sight. “I have followed your trail quite well.” 

His relief is not a pretence, in the Force or in his handsome face. “Jo,” he greets with great affection, his hands steady on her elbows, “how are you feeling? Perhaps you should not have walked.” The village is watching them, waiting for one or both of them to slip up and reveal a lie; they have their eyes on them. 

Facts: they are far from home, out of contact, stuck, and alone. However, they have the Force and each other, and Dooku has started up a ruse they’ve used many times. Therefore, it seems that he has a plan, which he is expecting her to follow, and the Force is calm and gentle here. She smiles at him scoldingly, embracing this opportunity to truly act his wife. “Now I am not so old, my love, for you to be implying I cannot handle a simple walk.” Dooku shakes his head, drawing her closer with his arm at her back. In turn, she laces hers around him, tucking her finger with the ease of long habit into the belt loop on his hip. “Have a little faith.” 

“My apologies, dear one,” he murmurs, eyes warm and relieved. “Forgive a fool his concerns.” 

Her smile now must surely shine as bright as the Living Force. “Always, dearheart.”


End file.
